Rose: My Life in Service to Lady Astor (34 page)

Apart from the frailty that I had first noticed at Holyroodhouse, there were now other signs that my lady was growing old. Her memory, on which she’d so prided herself, began noticeably to fail on occasions and this made her tetchy. I also realized that my own attitude towards her had changed. I was more tolerant in a patronizing, ‘there-there’, sort of way, like a mother with a petulant baby. Not all the time of course, she would in some moods have resented it, but I found it was creeping in. She now became resentful if I was away from her. My mother had died and I’d now taken possession of the bungalow I had bought for her, and enjoyed spending some time there working on it, getting it the way I wanted it to be. My lady didn’t like it. On my return I would be cross-examined as to where I’d been and what I’d done, and I’d be accused of neglecting her.

The other servants suffered too with her constant inquiries: ‘Where’s Rose? What time is she coming back? Why has she gone and left me?’

Perhaps as I write it, it seems I was conceited and that I considered myself indispensable; believe me, it wasn’t that. I got so that I couldn’t enjoy myself on my time off. I wondered what she would be getting up to and how the other servants were coping with her. Eventually I decided that for everybody’s peace of mind it would be better if I confined my visits home to the Wednesday of each week from one-fifteen to nine p.m. It wasn’t unselfishness on my part. It made life easier and for a greater happiness all round.

Now too I had to see my lady into bed. She was quite capable of attending to herself, but she developed the habit of getting half undressed, then thinking of something else she wanted to do and either getting into a dressing-gown or dressing again and busying herself around the flat. I couldn’t sleep while she was doing this so I got into the way of being with her until she was in bed, tucking her up and putting her light out. Once again just as one would with a child. Unfortunately it was always past midnight before she could be persuaded into her room, so it was late nights for all of us, since neither Charles nor Otto would go to bed until I had. We got to enjoy our chats over hot drinks when my lady was safely stowed. It seemed the one time of day we could safely relax.

Our travels hadn’t ceased; indeed it seemed we were away somewhere every weekend. When I put my lady’s things out for packing I used to feel like saying to them, ‘Now you all know where to go so why don’t you just pop in.’ Another sign of my lady’s age was her sudden change of attitude towards money. She began to imagine she was poor. ‘We must be careful, Rose,’ she’d say, ‘I’ve now only got four thousand a year to live on.’

This was a nonsense of course, it was nearer forty thousand, but it became quite an obsession with her. It didn’t cure her foolish generosity towards others. I now had another duty: mistress of my lady’s purse. We had found, and so had some of the scroungers who haunted Eaton Square, that she was still an easy touch and would often go out with a purse full of money and come back with it empty and nothing to show for it. It was obvious where it was going. At first when I took control she was allowed £5 to take with her, but I later cut it to £2. Her cheque book was also taken from her when it became obvious that the scroungers were not all of one class.

There were two great events which regaled my lady’s last years: her eightieth birthday party and the bestowing on her of the Freedom of the City of Plymouth. Why the citizens had waited so long to give her this was something none of us could understand, but then in my experience city councillors are a rum, self-seeking and self-important lot. They even make me feel snobbish. Not quite out of the top drawer, many of them, and going out of their way to make this apparent. Some members showed how they felt about democracy by refusing to attend. It was one of the early symptoms of a disease which has now become widespread. However my lady managed brilliantly without their presence. She rose to any such occasion and gave a glimpse of her old energy and spirit. She also gave the city a splendid present, her diamond and sapphire necklace, to grace the bosoms of future mayoresses. I hope they’ve found some at least half as worthy of it as she was.

Naturally our visit there was not without incident. On the way to the dinner in her honour (she was wearing the necklace at the time), she lost part of it, a pear-shaped diamond drop with two shamrock shapes, valued then at £500. She had to apologize that it was incomplete, but since it was insured she was able to promise them that it would eventually be made whole. She also announced that anyone finding it would receive ten per cent of its value.

When she returned from the ceremony she told me about the loss. I searched everywhere and eventually discovered it in the gutter outside 3 Elliot Terrace. My efforts were applauded, but needless to say when I mentioned my right to the reward it fell upon deaf ears.

My lady’s eightieth birthday party was organized by the children. It was a gathering of the tribe given in the style that could be expected. My lady was honoured by her family. They were all there, and so were her immediate friends and relations, and the people like myself who had served her. She was given a solitaire diamond ring by the children, a real beauty it was. It delighted her. In a way I felt a little responsible for the choice since for years it had been the habit of Miss Wissie and the boys to ask me what I thought their mother would like for Christmas or for her birthdays and I’d always suggested a diamond ring, and afterwards given alternatives. It had become a sort of family joke. This time she got it. Diamonds were her favourite jewels. I remember once when she was dressed up to the nines for some function, she turned to me and said, ‘What do I look like, Rose?’ Quick as a flash it came to me: ‘Cartier’s, my lady.’

The last years passed, I won’t say easily, but without much incident, and with only one illness, the quinsy which I have described earlier. Physically and mentally she grew weaker but there were never any signs of senility. She was in possession of all her faculties, and was a handful to the last. Death in old age when it approaches is so often pathetic. It’s like a tree falling. It cannot be raised, the leaves gradually wither and die. It was like this with my lady. In the middle of April 1964 I went home to Walton-on-Thames for the weekend, knowing that while I was there her ladyship would be with Miss Wissie at her home, Grimsthorpe.

On the Saturday she had a slight stroke while sitting in the drawing-room and was put to bed. On the Monday morning a car arrived for me at Walton and I was driven to Grimsthorpe. I was not shocked by her appearance when I saw her. Her speech was generally slower than it had been, but there were periods when there were flashes of her old spirit. I think she knew she was dying but she didn’t give up, nor did she struggle against death. She had a doctor and eventually a day and night nurse. She didn’t resent them but she wanted people around her whom she knew.

After about a week she drifted into a coma. She was conscious of what was going on and she knew that I was with her. I held her hand all the time that we were together and by the changing pressures we seemed to be able to say something to each other, and when I kissed her goodnight her grip seemed to tighten. As she grew thinner I would put a hand under her hip-bone to give her some relief from the pressure on it. She hated having to be turned by the nurses and would call out, ‘Don’t let them do it, Rose.’ The coma became deeper. Now I felt powerless to help in any way; I could only be with her and watch her slipping away. On the Friday evening of the first of May I heard her speak her last word. She lifted up her hands and called out, ‘Waldorf.’ I left her at eight o’clock.

The next morning at seven Miss Wissie woke me to tell me that she was dead. I think perhaps she thought I would break down. ‘Don’t make it harder for me, Rose,’ she said. But it wasn’t really news and I was ready to withstand the shock. There was nothing more I could do at Grimsthorpe. I packed my belongings. I was going home. There was only one other thing I wanted while I was there: a last glimpse of my lady. ‘Shall I come in with you, Rose?’ Miss Wissie asked when I told her.

‘No thank you,’ I replied.

‘But aren’t you afraid?’

‘No, Miss Wissie,’ I said, ‘death is nothing to be afraid of.’

I went into the bedroom. She looked so beautiful, and so very peaceful. She had suffered so little. It was a good picture to take away with me. I had one other thing to take as well, a link with the past: ‘Madam’, my lady’s dog. Together we slipped quietly out of the house.

This then was the end of my life in service. During the next weeks I had time to take stock of myself. I was not dissatisfied as I looked back over my life. If complacency is necessarily a fault, then I was guilty of it. I had given her my best and I had got a lot back from doing it. I’d fulfilled my ambition, I’d travelled the world, met interesting people, made many friends and most important of all become a member of a wonderful family. These were the big blessings I could count and there were many more.

Of course I missed my lady, particularly to begin with. There was a great sense of loss that had not been immediately apparent on her death. But if this book does nothing else it must show the many memories that I had of her, and which I could recall over the years ahead of me. And the family were still there and have been to this day. ‘You will never want for anything, Rose,’ her ladyship often said to me. The children have seen to it that their mother’s word has been honoured. I was given a pension and instructed to ask for help if ever I wanted it. I think they will agree that I have made few demands on them. There is something else they have given me which has made my retirement the richer: their continued affection and interest. I visit them, they visit me. I am still one of the tribe.